


Rainstorm

by cookie_full_of_arsenic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), Asexual Character, Dean and Cas try to be casual but who the hell are they kidding?, Getting Together, Human Castiel, Human Castiel in the Bunker, Led Zeppelin is the best, M/M, Open Relationships, Sam Winchester is a Good Bro, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 14:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15997577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookie_full_of_arsenic/pseuds/cookie_full_of_arsenic
Summary: Castiel is getting to grips with having human senses. Dean is just trying to be a good friend. This is basically my excuse for writing ace!Cas and a bunch of sensual stuff. And also Destiel, because all roads lead to Destiel.





	Rainstorm

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess this takes place in season 9, since Cas is human. But let's pretend all that business with Ezekiel isn't happening, because Cas is living in the bunker. And also because I haven't yet figured out how to interweave romantic drama with actual plot. I hope you enjoy!

Cas had been acting weird since becoming human. Weirder than usual, even. He had developed a tendency to space out – spend long minutes just examining random objects, or running his hands under the faucet in the kitchen.

So Dean wasn’t at all surprised to find him in the doorway of the bunker on a rainy night, with that familiar expression on his face – a mixture of fascination, confusion, and some other stuff that Dean couldn’t pin down.

He was standing inside, but the night air from the open door was sharp and Cas must’ve been cold in nothing but a thin tee-shirt. It was too dark to see if he had goose bumps, but Dean felt the urge to rub his hands over Cas’ bare arms anyhow. 

“What’re you doin’ here, Cas?” he asked. Less out of curiosity and more just to have something to say. Dean wasn’t an overly chatty person, but silences between him and Cas were never quite as comfortable as they were between, say, him and Sam.

“I’m watching the rain,” said Cas, without turning to look at Dean. “And listening to the rain. And … smelling the rain.”

Dean smirked at that. But then he inhaled deeply, wanting to know what Cas was experiencing. Sure enough, the damp night air smelled awesome. A fresh, earthy, mineral scent.

“Is it weird for you, having human senses?”

“It’s different. Everything is filtered in very specific ways. It’s difficult to explain.”

“That’s okay man, you don’t have to.”

They stood side-by-side for a moment, just staring out into the darkness and watching the bright shards of rain, illuminated by the light that spilled out from the bunker. Then Cas stepped forward, reaching out beyond the doorway and cupping his hands together. When a fair amount of rainwater had pooled in his hands, he drew them back and drank from them, carefully, not spilling a drop.

Dean watched him, heart beating hard. “How does it taste?” he asked, trying to distract himself from all the craziness going on inside him.

“That’s impossible to describe. Why don’t you try it?”

Way too eager to comply with anything Cas suggested, Dean rolled up his shirt sleeves to the elbow and stuck his hands out to catch the rain. When he drank it, it tasted of pretty much nothing, and yet somehow it also tasted like life itself.

***

Damn, Cas had an appetite these days. Especially for sweet stuff.

Dean wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that. He was supposed to be keeping his eyes trained on the entrance to the factory, so that when that shifter son of a bitch appeared, they could move quickly. Still, it was late and they’d been waiting for over an hour, so he couldn’t exactly blame his mind for wandering.

He kept shooting little, furtive glances at the rear view mirror. It gave him a good view of Cas, who was sitting in the back seat, methodically working his way through a huge slab of chocolate.

“You’re not gonna eat all of that, are you?” he asked.

“I was planning to,” Cas replied, in a distinctly _sticky_ voice. “It’s delicious.”

“Dude, if you keep eating all these sweets you’re gonna get fat.”

“Is that a problem?”

Next to him, Sam cleared his throat to get Dean’s attention, then muttered quietly, “Dean, don’t fat-shame the new human.”

“No, it doesn’t matter what size you are,” Dean said, and thankfully managed to stop himself from adding that Cas would look gorgeous at any weight. “It’s just that if you keep eating all that sugary junk and not getting enough exercise, you’re gonna feel crappy. You’ll have no energy, and you’ll get tooth decay, and your arteries are gonna fill up with…” he struggled to remember the scientific term, “…white goo.”

Cas frowned, and looked down at the candy bar as if it had betrayed him. “I’ll start exercising more,” he said, decisively. “Maybe I’ll take up running. And I’ll try to be more moderate with sweets. Would either of you like any chocolate?”

He held out the remnants of the candy bar, which Sam politely refused. “Sure, I’ll have some,” said Dean, and watched as Cas broke off a generous chunk of chocolate. He had a surprisingly vivid mental image of Cas putting the chocolate right into his mouth. Fingertips brushing lips. Maybe a sly little swipe of tongue.

Instead, Cas held out the chocolate and Dean took it and ate it. As it melted and coated his mouth with sweetness, he felt a sudden, urgent hunger that had nothing to do with food.

***

Cas needed to get laid. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out.

Firstly, Cas was human now. He had human needs, like food and sleep, so it was only natural for him to need sex, sooner or later. Secondly, he was taking forever in the shower. Dean was the last person on Earth to begrudge Cas a little fun for one but seriously, he was using up all the hot water.

So Dean concocted a plan. He would take Cas out to a bar, and be the best wingman he could possibly be. He would get a couple drinks in Cas to loosen him up, then teach him how to flirt. He’d make sure he went home with someone nice. Not too nice, obviously, but nice enough to take things slow and make sure Cas was having a good time.

Yeah, it was a great plan. And as long as Dean focussed on the plan, it stopped him thinking about what he actually wanted. It stopped him fantasising about hopping into the shower with Cas and lending an oh-so-willing hand.

It was a hot, mid-July evening when Dean finally put his plan into action. He and Cas sat in a booth at Liquid, swigging drinks (beer for Dean, some kind of sugary, purple cocktail for Cas) and watching humanity pass by, all dressed in their Saturday night best.

He’d chosen Liquid because he had no idea what Cas’ type was, and he didn’t want to make assumptions. He’d hooked up twice at Liquid – once with a girl, once with a guy – and the atmosphere was always relaxed and inclusive.

Dean leaned back in the booth and eagerly gobbled up all the eye candy, wondering who Cas would be interested in. There was a trio of hot girls in colourful dresses, laughing together at the edge of the dance floor. A guy with some badass tattoos all the way up his muscular arms, hovering shyly in a corner. Then there was the bartender of unknown gender, with the electric blue hair and razor-sharp cheekbones. Dean wasn’t usually into androgyny, but he had to admit they were pretty fucking stunning.

“So who do you like the look of?” he prompted.

Cas scanned the bar, looking slightly overwhelmed. Dean had a moment’s worry that Cas was getting sensory overload. The loud music, the lights flashing over the dance floor, the press of bodies – maybe it was all too much. He had a strong impulse to take Cas by the hand, lead him out of the bar and into the darkness and quiet of the night. Luckily, Cas answered him before that train of thought could continue.

“I like that woman’s hair,” he said, pointing none-too-subtly at a brunette with particularly long, glossy locks. “Do you think it’s difficult to maintain?”

“I don’t know,” said Dean, irritably. “You’re not here to discuss haircare, okay? Who do you think is hot?”

“Probably everyone. The air conditioning in here is inadequate.”

“Okay, I’m gonna be direct about this. Who do you want to have sex with?”

“Nobody.”

Dean’s brain went quiet, like it couldn’t quite process that. He took a sip of his beer, and Cas took a sip of his cocktail. Things were not going according to the plan. Maybe, if he was careful and understanding, he could get everything back on track.

“Look, I know this kinda thing can be … intimidating, but once you get over the nerves, sex is pretty damn awesome.”

“I don’t want any, thank you.”

“Dude, it’s not _dessert_.”

“I don’t think you understand.”

“Okay, so explain it to me.”

Cas frowned into his drink. There was a distracting bead of sweat gliding down the side of his neck. “When I was an angel, I had no desire for sexual contact with anyone, but I tried enough to know for sure that it doesn’t feel good for me. As a human, I don’t feel any different. And I don’t want to try anything sexual again. Feelings of disgust are so intense for humans.”

The realisation hit Dean slowly, but with considerable force. “So you’re, what, asexual?”

“Yes, I believe that’s the correct term.”

“Huh.”

A confusing mass of disappointment and relief settled heavily in Dean’s stomach. Okay, so he was definitely never getting into Cas’ pants, and that was a crying shame. Then again, maybe that knowledge would help him finally get over his stupid crush. Maybe now, things would start to get easier.

The worried look on Cas’ face made Dean realise he was being kind of a dick. The dude just came out to him and he was making it all about himself instead of saying something reassuring. “Well, hey, that’s cool,” he said. “Uh … sorry for, y’know, pressuring you.”

“It’s all right. You didn’t know.”

An awkward silence built up between them, and Dean panicked and filled it with, “Man, I can’t imagine not wanting sex.”

“I can’t imagine wanting it,” Cas replied. And maybe there was the tiniest bit of sass in his voice. “I’ve never understood how people go from looking at someone beautiful to wanting to touch their genitals. It seems like an odd mental leap to take.”

Dean laughed – half from amusement and half from relief. Cas was being his usual self, so it looked like he hadn’t screwed up the situation too badly.

“Yeah, maybe it is weird. But it’s what happens for most people. We see someone beautiful and sooner or later, we wanna tap that. Have you really never experienced that?”

“No. Mostly I just want to keep looking.”

“Mm-hm. Fair enough.”

Dean was so distracted by the newness of the situation that he failed to notice something very familiar – Cas looking at him, a little too long and a little too intently.

***

Led Zeppelin was a miracle drug. It could soothe any kind of inner turmoil, more effectively than anything else. Except maybe whisky, but whisky came with hangovers and Led Zeppelin didn’t. This time, however, Led Zeppelin couldn’t work its magic because the cause of Dean’s inner turmoil showed up in his bedroom doorway, halfway through The Rain Song.

Damn it, he should’ve closed the door. Cas looked like he’d just got back from a run (he’d taken up running for the sole purpose of being able to eat more sweets) and his cheeks were indecently flushed. “What are you listening to?” he asked, with a wide-eyed, eager expression.

“The Rain Song. It’s by Led Zeppelin.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Hell yeah it is.”

Cas hovered in the doorway, drinking in the music, until Dean couldn’t stand the awkwardness of it anymore and patted the bed, gesturing for Cas to sit down. Of course, this didn’t make things any less awkward because Cas went and _laid_ down beside him. The bed had more than enough room for the two of them but still, it was achingly intimate. The fact that Cas smelt of good, clean sweat and the quiet groaning noise that he made when he stretched himself out on the memory foam mattress didn’t help matters any.

The two of them were silent for a while, listening to the music. Eventually, Cas said “I think I prefer music to running.”

Dean smiled his approval. “How ‘bout I make you a playlist? Then you can listen to music while you run.”

“That’s a very kind offer, but I think it would be a distraction. I find that running has its own rhythm and it might not match the rhythm of the music.”

“Well, I’m gonna make you a playlist anyway, and you can listen to music whenever.”

“Thank you. Can it have some Led Zeppelin on it?”

“Dude, it’s gonna be 90% Zeppelin.”

“What is Led Zeppelin, exactly? Is it a band, or a solo musician, or some kind of musical machine?”

“It’s a British rock band. Hold on, I’m gonna show you.”

Dean rolled off the bed and began rifling through the drawer where he kept old music magazines that he couldn’t bear to throw out (as well as a fair few copies of “Busty Asian Beauties”. Right at the bottom, he found what he was looking for – an ancient edition of “Let it Rock”, stolen from his dad when he was a teenager.

He found the page he was looking for, and plopped the magazine down on his pillow. Cas rolled onto his stomach to look at it, and Dean laid back down beside him, their heads close together.

“So this is Led Zep. That’s Robert Plant, there, and Jimmy Page. That’s John Paul Jones, and John Bonham on drums.”

Cas nodded, but Dean could tell he was only half paying attention. His fingers were tapping rhythmically on the pillow, lost in the music. He turned the page, revealing a young Robert Plant, and Dean’s face heated up because he clearly remembered jerking off to that picture as a teenager.

Not that anyone could blame him for it. In the picture, Robert’s shirt was wide open, revealing every inch of a lean, lithe body. Then there was the way his head was tipped back – mouth open, eyes tightly shut in the ecstasy of music. This was the first guy Dean ever really _wanted_. He’d had crushes before, though he had stubbornly refused to acknowledge them as such. There had been boys at school who he couldn’t stop thinking about. Boys who made him feel excited and nervous and angry with himself. But then Robert Plant came along and opened the sexual floodgates.

“He has a very distinctive voice,” said Cas, jolting Dean back to the present.

“Yeah, he does. He’s a good screamer, right? But he’s great on the quieter, acoustic stuff as well.”

“He’s pleasant to look at, too.”

“Mm-hm. Had a hell of a crush on him when I was a kid.” The words slipped out and surprised Dean, but he wasn’t sorry he’d said them. Crowded on the bed with Cas, he felt a closeness that somehow went beyond the physical. It was making him braver than usual. “Hey, I know you don’t get the hots for people in the same way, but do you ever get crushes, or anything?”

“I do seem to experience romantic attraction, yes.”

Cas’ words came out in a rush, and he looked down at the magazine, avoiding Dean’s gaze. When Dean lowered his head and tried to catch Cas’ eye, he rolled over abruptly onto his back. Dean’s heart was beating way too quickly.

“You okay, dude?” he asked, hovering over Cas, who still wouldn’t look at him.

“Yes. I just feel … a lot.”

For once, Dean knew exactly what Cas was talking about. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he reached out and touched Cas’ face, cupping his chin and cheek, smoothing his thumb over the stubble. It was a bad idea, such a bad idea. It was going to make things ten times more complicated. But then Cas leaned into his touch for a moment, sighed contentedly and looked up at him with those bright blue eyes. It was suddenly impossible to think beyond the moment. 

He’d fantasised about kissing Cas dozens of times, and in those fantasies the kisses were usually forceful and passionate. A possessive claiming of Cas’ mouth. A statement of intent. When Dean finally kissed him for the first time, it wasn’t like that at all. It wasn’t even on the mouth. He kissed Cas’ neck, just below his jaw. It was as light and soft as a kiss could possibly be. He could feel Cas’ pulse, drumming away like a rainstorm under his skin.

***

They kissed everywhere. On the mouth, on the neck, all along Dean’s collarbone, on the insides of Cas’ wrists. Cas seemed to really like kissing, though he wasn’t crazy about tongue.

They kissed everywhere. Dean’s bedroom, Cas’ bedroom, the kitchen, the local 7-Eleven (luckily no-one saw them except a little girl who was more interested in finding the double stuffed Oreos). It was inevitable, really, that Sam would catch them smooching in the library. The conversation that followed was just as impossible to avoid.

“So, you and Cas, huh?”

Sam leaned back in his seat at the table and sipped his beer, somehow managing to drink and smirk at the same time. Dean swallowed his last bite of pizza and gave Sam a challenging look.

“What about me and Cas?”

“Are you guys together, finally?”

“Dude, we’re not _together_ , we’re just…”

“Dating?”

“Not exactly.”

“Screwing?”

“Nope.”

“Seriously? But you guys are all over each other. I figured, y’know, after all these years-”

“Cas is asexual,” Dean blurted out, just to shut Sam up. Then he felt shitty for a moment because he wasn’t in the habit of outing people, even to his brother.

Luckily, Sam was reliably cool about it. He made a thoughtful face, sipped his beer, then said, “Now that I think about it, he does have kind of an ace vibe.”

_An ace vibe._ Jesus. Trust his straight brother to be more clued-up about this stuff than him. “So, yeah, there you go. No screwing. We’re just kinda … foolin’ around. Keepin’ it casual.”

“Casual? You two?” Now Sam was smirking again, and Dean was getting pissed off.

“Forgive me if I’m not jumping into a serious relationship with my newly-human best friend. It’s freakin’ complicated, okay? We’re not even compatible.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s asexual and I’m not.”

“Okay, yeah, I get that it complicates things. But there are options, y’know? Relationships don’t have to be based on sexual exclusivity. And there’s other ways of … expressing affection. Couples with different orientations can still make it work.”

“Why the hell would an asexual person want to make it work with me? Sex is the only part of relationships I’m actually good at.”

Shit, there it was. Dean hadn’t been planning on saying it out loud, or even acknowledging it to himself. But the anxiety that had been hovering behind his shoulder ever since he and Cas first kissed, had finally shaped itself into something definite.

Sam looked at a loss for words at first – awkward and unsure. Then, like the good dude he was, he pressed his lips together and gave a determined little frown. “Dean, you have plenty to offer besides sex. And Cas is crazy about you, anyone can-”

“Just save it, Sammy.”

Dean stood up, chair scraping noisily on the kitchen floor, and went to the fridge to get another beer. He wanted to go and find Cas, and just hold him for a while. To feel that warm, solid body in his arms. But instead, he opened his beer in front of the open fridge and chugged half of it quickly. He had to be careful. If he wasn’t careful, he would start _needing_ Cas. And that was dangerous territory to get into.

***

“Dean, do you think I’m a tease?”

“Huh?” The question caught him off guard, especially since the movie (Rocky 3 – the best of all the Rocky movies, and Dean would happily fight anyone who disagreed) was about to start.

“Do you think I’m a tease?”

Dean loosened the arm that was wrapped around Cas’ shoulders, and twisted himself to look at him. The guy wouldn’t meet his eye, and there was something suspiciously like shame in the expression on his face.

“No, I don’t think that. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that … I find that when we’re together, there are things I want to do to you. But I worry you might misinterpret them as a sexual advance. It seems like everything can be misinterpreted as a sexual advance.”

“Cas, it’s cool. I know what your deal is. I’m never gonna assume you want sex unless you’re literally begging me for it.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you.”

The relief on Cas’ face was instant. But just as Cas was relaxing, Dean thought of what Cas had said, and found himself getting oh-so-slightly worked up about part of it.

“So what exactly are these things you wanna do to me?”

“Well, I’d really like to put my hand up your shirt and feel the muscles in your stomach. And when you came home all sweaty a few days ago, I started wondering if the skin of your neck tasted the same way it smelt. And yesterday, when we were kissing on your bed and you were on top of me, I found myself wanting to wrap my legs around your hips.”

“Wow. Fuck, okay, yeah. I think you should do all those things.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Only, I’m gettin’ hot and bothered just thinkin’ about this stuff. So, do you think it’s gonna bother you if I get…”

“Hard?”

“Mmph.”

“I doubt it.”

***

Over the next few weeks, Dean learnt a lot. He learnt that while there were places Cas’ hands wouldn’t go, they felt pretty damn amazing wherever they went. Seriously, the guy probably could’ve earnt decent money as a professional masseur. He learnt that Cas had incredibly soft skin on the insides of his elbows, and ticklish feet, and that whenever Dean ran his fingernails down Cas’ back, he made a noise that most people only made mid-orgasm.

He learnt to be less impatient. That one was a difficult lesson to learn, because he basically had to adopt a whole new mind-set. In the past, making out had always been a precursor to sex. And yeah, he’d enjoyed it, but he’d enjoyed it in a distracted kind of way – always thinking about what was coming next. With Cas, he had to stop thinking like that and just relish what was actually happening. You could say he was learning to live in the moment. You could also say he was jerking off with the frequency and enthusiasm of a teenager.

***

They started sleeping together, in the strictly literal sense, most nights. Dean tried his best not to freak out about how awesome it felt when Cas fell asleep in his arms, or when he woke up in the morning to Cas’ bleary smile and extra-croaky voice. Of course, it wasn’t an entirely positive experience. There were … frustrations.

Even before he and Cas became whatever the hell they were, Dean knew a little about asexuality. He knew, for example, that it was a sexual orientation, and nothing to do with erectile dysfunction. He knew this in abstract kind of way, but these days he knew it in a more concrete way, because he occasionally woke up with some hard evidence pressed against him.

Today, for example, Dean woke with Cas draped half on top of him, and Cas’ morning wood pressed against his stomach, dangerously close to his own hard-on. “Cas, baby, you awake?” he whispered. When that got no response, he gave him a gentle nudge. This made Cas wriggle sleepily, which did not improve the situation at all. Dean bit his lip and considered his options.

He could disentangle himself from Cas, slip away to the bathroom and take care of business. It wouldn’t be the first time, and Cas would be understanding about it. Still, Dean was reluctant to give up a lazy morning in bed with Cas, so he made another attempt at improving the situation rather than escaping it.

“Cas? Look, dude, I don’t know how to say this but your dick’s kinda driving me crazy.” This succeeded in waking Cas up, and he rolled off of Dean and faced away from him, mumbling a sleepy apology. “S’okay,” muttered Dean.

After a long moment without any physical contact, and a few slow breaths, he felt calm enough to risk spooning Cas. He wrapped an arm around Cas’ torso and felt him squirm happily – spooning was still kind of a novelty. Damn, why did he have to be so irresistible? 

Dean let his hand wander, stroking over Cas’ chest and stomach, feeling the heat of his body through the soft fabric of his tee-shirt. Slowly, he stroked along Cas’ side until it cupped the perfect curve of his hipbone. If there was ever a time to say it, now was the time. “Hey, if you ever wanted me to, y’know, _lend a hand_ , um … I wouldn’t expect you to reciprocate, or anything.”

Cas found Dean’s hand on his hipbone and pulled it away. He brought it up to his lips and kissed Dean’s knuckles. Usually, that made him feel like a million bucks, but not this morning. “I take it that’s a no,” he said, trying and failing to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Cas wriggled around until he was facing Dean, gave him a regretful look and said “Sorry.”

“Hey, no, don’t be sorry, you got nothin’ to be sorry for. I’m just a horny bastard in the mornings. Figured maybe you were horny too.” He jerked his chin downwards, gesturing vaguely at Cas’ boner.

“I’ll deal with in the shower, if I have to.”

“If you have to? Baby, you make it sound like a chore.”

“Not a chore, exactly. More like scratching an itch. That’s why I wouldn’t want you getting involved. You wouldn’t ask someone else to scratch your ass, would you?”

“Well, no. But if I had an itch I couldn’t reach, I might ask someone I trusted to help out.”

“I trust you completely,” Cas pressed a quick, firm kiss to his lips, “but honestly, I’ve never had an itch I couldn’t scratch myself.”

Damn, but that was hot in the most frustrating way possible. It took Dean a moment to gather his thoughts and reply, “Okay, message received. I guess that’s the difference between us, huh? I get itches in all kinds of places I can’t reach.”

He said it light-heartedly, but Cas looked serious. Not that he often looked any other way, but now he looked _extra_ serious. “You know, Dean, it’s all right if you want to have sexual intercourse with other people. I never assumed we’d be exclusive.”

“Wow. You don’t exactly beat around the bush, do ya Cas?”

“I’m not familiar with that phrase. Is it a sexual euphemism?”

“No, it means … fuck, I just wasn’t expecting that conversation this morning. Would you really be okay with me screwing other people?”

“Yes, I expect so. It’s not something I desire, so why would I mind you doing it with someone else?”

“I dunno, man, I don’t know what the rules are here.”

“I think we make them up as we go along.”

Okay. Sex with other people. People who aren’t Cas. Awesome. Great. He really needed to get laid. Still, his brain kept chewing over what Cas said – “I never assumed we’d be exclusive.” It bothered him, somehow. It seemed like Cas had thought about the possibility of an actual, serious relationship with him, and dismissed it. And yeah, he pretty much did the same thing so he had no right to be upset. Still…

***

Dean parked the impala, turned the engine off, and just sat there for a moment, trying to make sense of things. He’d been doing that more often, lately – checking in with himself, to see how he was feeling. It was difficult and chick-flickish, and it made him feel stupid, but he owed it to Cas. He had to stop his dumbass brain from screwing up whatever they had.

Physically, he felt good. Pleasantly sore, and less like a shook-up soda can than he’d felt in a long time. He’d met a guy at Liquid. A hot twenty-something called TJ, with peroxide blonde hair and a pierced eyebrow. Dean hadn’t asked what TJ stood for, and TJ didn’t offer the information. It was pretty clear that they were both after the same thing, and before long TJ took Dean back to his messy apartment, and Dean had him both ways in several different positions. A good time was had by all.

So yeah, his body was pretty insistent that the sex had been a good idea. His brain, however, was full of questions. Was it okay that he didn’t feel guilty? Was it okay to fantasise about your asexual boyfriend while a hot stranger fucked you from behind? Was it okay that he just thought of Cas as his boyfriend? After a couple minutes, he realised he wasn’t going to figure out any of the answers, so he left the impala and went inside. 

It was late, and he wasn’t expecting anyone to be up. But as he entered the kitchen, he found Cas making cocoa at the stove. His first impulse was to stand behind him, wrap his arms around Cas’ waist and kiss the top of his head. But the fact that he’d just been with another guy made that seem … inappropriate? Instead, he cleared his throat, and Cas turned from the stove and smiled at him, maybe a little hesitantly.  

“Did you have a good time at Liquid?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you find someone to have intercourse with?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Do you want any cocoa?”

“Hell yeah, if there’s enough for me.”

Cas poured cocoa into two mugs and they both leant against the counter, sipping slowly.

“S’good stuff,” Dean murmured, inhaling the fragrant steam.

“Thank you. You don’t find it too sweet?”

“It’s perfect.”

When he was down to the dregs of his cocoa, Dean bit the bullet and said, “So, are we supposed to talk about it, or never talk about it, or what?”

“I don’t know. But I’d rather not talk about it right now. Will you come to bed with me?”

“You want me to?”

“Of course.”

Dean was tired, and sex-sore, and warm on the inside from hot cocoa, and warm on the outside from Cas cuddling up to him in bed. But one of the questions floating around his angsty little brain was refusing to let him sleep. Demanding to be heard.

“Does it make you jealous?” he asked, in a voice not much louder than a whisper. “Not the sex, but, y’know, other people kissing me or touching me or whatever.”

Cas made a thoughtful noise at the back of his throat, then said “Jealous,” as if he were trying the word on for size. Then he made the thoughtful noise again, and said “No. Jealous is when someone else has something you want, isn’t it? So as long as I can still kiss you, there’s no need for me to be jealous.”

“Cas, baby, you can kiss me dawn ‘til dusk,” said Dean, with feeling. Cas started to point out that they did most of their kissing between dusk and dawn rather than vice versa, but Dean rolled on top of him and shut him up.

When Dean’s mouth moved from Cas’ lips to his neck, Cas picked up his train of thought. “I suppose, if anything, I feel a little possessive.”

Dean pulled back and looked quizzically at Cas. “Possessive?”

“Not that you belong to me, of course. I only meant…”

There was a look on Cas’ face that Dean hasn’t seen before. A mixture of uncertainty, and anxiety, and absolute _need_. It ought to have scared the crap out of him, but instead it tugged at something similar inside him.

“It’s just sex, Cas,” he said. “Yeah, it’s good and it’s necessary, but it’s just body parts inside other body parts. It doesn’t make me any less … yours.”

Well shit, now he was scared. Scared of how true that was. Cas slipped a hand round the back of his neck and tugged him down for another kiss. It was slow, and deeper than usual, and Dean’s heart was a hammer on an anvil.

“Can I take this off?” Cas plucked at the hem of Dean’s tee-shirt, and Dean nodded. He pulled Cas’ shirt off too, tossing it to the floor. It was the first time they’d been properly shirtless together, and it was a good thing Dean had just been fucked six ways to Sunday, or he’d be going crazy. Instead, he pulled Cas down on top of him and ran his hands over his back, dragging a finger down the groove of his spine to make him shiver. Cas buried his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and made a soft, sighing, “Don’t stop” kind of noise.

They stayed that way for a while, relishing the feeling of skin on skin. Then something weird happened. Dean realised that they were breathing perfectly in time with each other. Their chests rose and fell in sync; slow and effortless. Dean began to feel very strange. As if his skin was disappearing, and Cas’ skin was disappearing too, and there was nothing at all keeping them separate from each other.

It was trippy.

It was ecstatic.

It was really fucking scary.

So much for keeping it casual. Dean was beginning to suspect that was not an option.

***

The rain had finally stopped. In the watery light of dawn, Dean rolled onto his side on the too-short, too-narrow twin bed, and looked across the room at Cas.

They were in Maine, where the local vampires were being more troublesome than usual. The three of them were staying at a kind of hunter safe house on a remote part of the coast. The safe house was actually a converted railway carriage, and it was cramped and slightly damp and had a funky smell like someone might’ve suffered a violent death in it not so long ago.

Cas was still sleeping, and Dean was thinking. He’d been doing that a lot, lately. Cas, he reflected, was asking both very little of him, and a hell of a lot. On the one hand, Cas wasn’t asking him to give up anything at all, and there were plenty of guys who would love to be in his situation. Go out and screw whoever you want, then come home to cocoa and cuddles instead of tears and yelling. On the other hand, Dean was going to spend the rest of his life wanting Cas in a way that Cas just couldn’t be had. He could deal with it, probably. The fire was under control now, but it wasn’t going to die out. It would smoulder quietly until the day he died.

As if he were aware that Dean was staring at him, Cas opened his eyes.

“Morning, sunshine.”

“Good morning, Dean.”

Cas’ hand emerged from under the covers and reached out. Dean reached out in turn, and the room was so small that they were able to bridge the gap between the beds and twine their fingers together clumsily.

“The rain’s stopped,” Dean murmured. “Wanna get some fresh air?”

Thanks to the safe house’s isolated location, neither of them had any qualms about going out in just their tee-shirts and boxers. They passed through the shabby excuse for a living room, where Sam slept on a faded green couch, a book titled “Vegetarian Vampires – A Dangerous Myth” still open on his chest. Dean took the book carefully and placed it on the floor, then pulled at the afghan on the back of the couch and draped it over his brother with a tenderness that he wouldn’t risk if Sam were awake. It was all Cas’ fault, this recent sappiness that had come over him. There was so much love rushing around inside him that it couldn’t be properly contained.

Yeah. Love. Fuck it, there was no denying it anymore.

Outside, the air was bracing. Fall was well underway, and the wind came off the ocean in sharp gusts that smelt dirty and clean at the same time. Even the sand was cool against the soles of his feet. Cas marched ahead of him, like an overexcited kid who couldn’t wait to get to the sea. But then he stopped, a few feet away from the farthest reach of the waves, and stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, hugging himself against the cold.

Dean stood behind Cas and wrapped his arms around him. Cas leaned back into him, and they were still and silent for a moment, while the sea frothed and churned in front of them, and gulls cried overhead, and even the clouds in the sky raced each other.

“I’m very much in love with you, Dean,” said Cas.

Dean allowed himself a moment – just a short one – to let those words wash over him and drench him in happiness. Then he got his shit together and said, “I love you too, Cas.”

Cas turned in Dean’s arms, and the two of them started making stupid promises to each other. They would make it work, they would figure it out, they would be together always. Cas got a little teary, and then looked all surprised, like he hadn’t expected his eyes to do that. Dean was in serious danger of tearing up himself, so he kissed Cas thoroughly. It was a good distraction.

The kisses got playful, and roamed all over Cas’ face. Then Dean murmured into his ear, “You know, I hear the ocean’s actually warmest at this time of year.”

“What?”

Before Cas could figure out what was happening, Dean scooped him up, slung him over his shoulder, and charged towards the sea. Cas yelled and laughed, and when Dean dropped him in the water, he pulled Dean right down with him. They splashed each other like a pair of kids, pausing only to trade a salty kiss.

Dean wasn’t sure if it was the chill of the water against his skin, or the soft roar of the waves in his ears, or the sight of Cas’ tee-shirt clinging to his body, or the salt on his tongue or some kind of magical combination of these things. But he felt very alive. Very present, in his own body. Very human.


End file.
